


Beyond Measure and Reason

by Good0mens



Series: Beyond Measure and Reason [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ancient!Nicky, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asshole!Nicky, Dad!Nicky, Dimension Travel, Eventually!, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Bonding, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genderbending, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Joe is having a bad day, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, M/M, Mission Fic, Mystery, Nile Freeman & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Friendship, Post-Canon, Post-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), but not really?, in most realities, lots of alternative realities, this fic is so hard to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good0mens/pseuds/Good0mens
Summary: A sense of overwhelming dread and confusion hung in the pit of his gut. He covered Andy’s hand with his own, leaning forward to catch her gaze. Andy finally looked up at him and swore at whatever she saw there.“You really don’t know,” she said finally.“Know what? I know that I got blown up yesterday, and that everything hurts. I know you’re acting weird; what I don’t know is where my husband is,” Joe answered, trying to keep his voice even.“He’s somewhere at the bottom of the ocean,” Andy said with an explosive, shaky breath, “where he’s been for the last few hundred years.”-Joe dies on a mission, and wakes up in a different reality. And then he wakes up in another one, and then another, and he really just wants to go home, okay?
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Beyond Measure and Reason [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048336
Comments: 461
Kudos: 866





	1. Chapter 1

“Motherfucker!”

Joe hissed as the slug lodged itself in his thigh bone, dropping down on the knee of his opposite leg behind the barrier. He groaned, waiting for it to heal as he surveyed their position. Next to him, Nile was keeping a lookout, gun poised and at the ready.

“That looked like it hurt,” she said without looking over at him.

“Did it now?” Joe shot back. Into his earpiece, he muttered, “do we have eyes on the bastard who shot me?”

“Already got him, my love,” came Nicky’s voice, somehow steady and true despite the crackle of the wire in his ear.

“Alright Nile, we’ve got this, yeah?” Joe said, nudging her encouragingly.

Nile rolled her eyes, “yeah man, sure we do-”

And then something burst in a fiery ball in front of them and everything went to shit.

* * *

Bright white light burned behind his eyes. He blinked it back, pressed his palms into the sockets. God, he fucking hated grenades.

When he could finally open them, he’s met with a small room, dark, with the curtains drawn. He immediately recognised it as one of Andy’s safehouses in Mississippi, which-

The last thing he remembered was him, Nile, Andy and Nicky scouting out a potential human trafficking situation in Brooklyn. It must’ve gotten incredibly ugly for them to have raced all the way out here before Joe could even wake up.

He instinctively reached his hand out, but when he found the sheets beside him cold, he sat up. Or at least, he tried to, but a splitting ache in his head caused him to flop back down onto the sheets, groaning. Judging by the light coming through the window, peeking through the curtains, he must’ve been out for almost 24 hours. He blindly reached for his phone on the nightstand to check the date and confirmed that yes, it was indeed the following day. Huh.

What were they doing in Mississippi? And where was Nicky?

He took a deep breath and sat up again, this time prepared for the wave of dizziness that overcame him. He vaguely heard some rustling from the kitchen downstairs – maybe Nicky was making them all breakfast. He liked to do that after gruelling missions; it was one of the many, many reasons he loved him.

Swinging his legs out of the bed, Joe stood up and stumbled his way out of the rooom. It wasn’t Nicky downstairs, but Andy, wrestling with the coffee maker. He huffed a laugh as she cursed at it, before he made his way over to her, gently nudging her to the side to coax the infernal machine to life himself. He side-eyed Andy’s confused expression with a raised brow. 

“How are you, Joe?” Andy asked, voice soft and croaky with sleep.

“Very pissed off,” he grinned, pouring out a cup and handing it to Andy, who took it gratefully. “Splitting headache, sore muscles - I hate getting blown up. Where’s Nicky?”

He was not expecting Andy to drop her mug, and for it to shatter all over the kitchen floor.

He swore, eyebrows raised in shock. _What the fuck?_

“Andy!” Joe exclaimed, “you’re going to get glass in your feet, boss,” he fussed, eyes focused on the cascade of ceramic on the floor as he grabbed Andy by the arm and manoeuvred her into a dining chair. 

“It’ll heal,” he heard her say absentmindedly under her breath, dazed. She was staring at Joe with an odd look on her face.

Joe brushed off her words, sitting beside her on at the table. Andy still hadn’t answered his question, and she was still looking at him in a way he didn't like. Joe was getting increasingly worried by her silence.

“Andy? Where’s Nicky?” he prompted again, searching her eyes, her face for any indication or answer. 

Andy shook her head, “this doesn’t make any sense, you seemed fine yesterday-”

“What are you talking about-”

“Don’t make me say it, Joe, please,” Andy whispered, studying the table intently. Joe had almost never heard her voice like this; shaky and empty, like when Quynh-

A sense of overwhelming dread and confusion sunk down to the pit of his gut. He covered Andy’s hand with his own, leaning forward to catch her gaze. Andy finally looked up at him and swore at whatever she saw there.

“You really don’t know,” she said finally.

“Know what? I know that I got blown up yesterday, and that everything hurts. I know you’re acting weird; what I don’t know is where my husband is,” Joe answered, trying to keep his voice even.

“He’s somewhere at the bottom of the ocean,” Andy said with an explosive, shaky breath, “where he’s been for the last few hundred years.”

Joe flinched, bile rising in his throat at the mere suggestion.

“That really isn’t funny, Andy,” he said, cold anger washing over his disbelief.

“Who’s laughing, Joe? Look, you must still be healing from that grenade you took yesterday. In 1750, you and Nicolo got caught freeing women from the witch trials, and they found out you could heal. They thought you were demons, and they- they tried to kill you a few times, before they decided to separate you.” Andy took a deep shuddering breath, “and then they locked Nicolo in an iron coffin and threw him into the sea.”

“ _No_ , no, no. That didn’t happen to us, that happened to you and-”

 _Quynh._ If Nicky really was in the box, then-

“Andy, I heard something shattering, is everything okay?”

Joe swivelled his head around so fast he felt like it split open again. Descending the stairs, very much alive and not at the bottom of the ocean, was Quynh.

Any joy he could muster up for seeing her after all this time was immedaitely dwarfed by the dawning realisation that what Andy said must’ve been true, and him throwing up all over the kitchen floor as a result.

* * *

Joe was looking down at his hands. He doesn’t have the rings on, the ones Nicky had bought him in Malta when they visited a few decades ago and got married (again). But he remembered them, the shape of them, how they felt on his fingers. He remembered _Nicky._ His husband, all the time spent fighting by his side the last two centuries, the love, the laughter, the sex-

There was no way he had imagined the last few hundred years of their lives, or that his mind had made it all up - no, this wasn’t the result of a traumatic brain injury.

Joe was in the wrong reality.

“Is Nile here?” Joe wondered aloud. He didn’t sound like himself, his voice was flat and tinny, even to his own ears.

Andy nodded. “She’s upstairs in one of the bedrooms. Booker- he’s exiled. They ran a lot of experiments on you at Merrick’s lab, maybe this is a side effect-”

“No,” Joe denied, flexing his ringless hands out in front of him. “Somehow, when I died yesterday, I was transported to this reality. In my reality, Nicky- we’ve called him _Nicky_ since the 1900s and he used to _hate_ it, but he likes it now- is alive and well. We weren’t even in England in the 1750s, that was- that was you and Quynh.” He forced himself to look up at them while he forged on, “in my reality, Quynh is in the iron coffin.”

He grimaced at the way Andy’s hand immediately sought Quynh’s across the table, gripping it tightly. As much as he wished Nicky was there beside him, would he trade Nicky's place with Quynh's? Even the _t_ _hought_ of having to make that choice sent a shudder down his spine. 

“How could this even be possible?” Quynh asked helplessly, eyes darting between Joe and Andy, “alternate realities? We’ve never seen anything like this.”

Andy shook her head, already getting into tactical mode, “if anyone can help with this, it’s Copley. He has the connections and the resources to figure this out.” She stood and cracked a sardonic smile at Joe, “besides, he owes us a favour or three.”

* * *

“You said you died yesterday.”

“Yeah, in Brooklyn; we were on a mission and I got blown to bits,” Joe explained, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head really fucking hurt.

Copley shared a look with Andy, who shook her head and sighed.

They were all seated around Copley’s living room, a tray of tea laid out on the coffee table, untouched. Joe was trying not to feel the absence of Nicky in the empty seat beside him. And then he was trying not to imagine that absence multiplied by hundreds of years. His hands hadn't stopped shaking all morning, sick with worry and grief - how had Andy dealt with this? How was he supposed to deal with this? 

Earlier that day, he’d gone back upstairs to his bedroom after his conversation with Andy and Quynh, to change clothes and freshen up before they left to see Copley. He hadn’t noticed it when he woke up, but surveying the room again, he found no drawings, no charcoal, no sniper rifle - nothing but an empty room and some clothes, some gear- he should have _known_ something was wrong.

“We haven’t been on a mission in months, here,” Andy pointed out.

“I don’t know what to tell you. It was a run of the mill mission, nothing out of the ordinary. I don’t remember anything after the grenade came sailing in,” Joe said, wracking his brain for anything he could have missed.

The day before, he’d woken up to Nicky pressing kisses along the freckles on his nose, warm and grinning and _happy._ That felt so long ago, now. The idea that the Nicky in this reality was trapped, dying over and over, right that very minute was enough to have him trying not to gag again. 

“Have you tried dying again?” Nile suggested quietly from her place on the armchair, breaking him from his thoughts.

Joe looked over at her, not missing the way she immediately averted her eyes. What was this version of Joe like, he wondered, to her? This version of himself that didn’t have Nicky. He wondered if she saw Nicky in her dreams, too, like she saw Quynh.

He considered her idea. Dying was what got him into this mess; perhaps it could get him out of it.

“Might be worth a shot,” he shrugged.

* * *

Andy volunteered to do the honours when they returned to the safehouse. After a quick but thorough check to ensure Joe still had his immortality, Andy excused herself to grab her gun, leaving Joe to say his goodbyes. 

He spotted Nile from the corner of his eye, observing them from the couch in the living room. He made his way over and crouched down in front of her, laying a hand upon her clothed knee. 

“If this works, and you get the other Joe back – ask him about the time he punched Michelangelo,” Joe grinned, “you wanted to go to art school after the army, yes? I-He’s- he _was_ an artist. Let him explore that side of himself again.”

Nile nodded, a slow, uncertain smile growing on her face. God, Joe had never loved Nicky more in that moment, for the way he’d welcomed Nile in his own reality. His absence was entirely unavoidable. 

When he turned back, Quynh was watching him with a kind smile. He scooped her up into a hug, tears stinging his eyes as she wrapped her slender arms around his middle. It struck him, suddenly, that he couldn’t remember the last time he hugged her.

“I miss you,” Joe whispered quietly, closing his eyes to hug her tighter. He had so many things he wanted to say to her, like _you are the only good thing to come of this_ , and _I'm so sorry we couldn't find you,_ but she was not his Quynh. Just like this was not his reality, and the man lost to sea was not his Nicky. This was not his burden to bear, nor was his guilt hers to carry. 

Andy jogged down the stairs, holding her gun and nodded at Joe. Joe pulled back from Quynh and squeezed her hands once more before letting go. 

“Alright, Andy, show me what you got,” he said, taking a deep breath in.

Andy raised the gun, and Joe closed his eyes.

* * *

The first thing Joe noticed when he woke again was that he was still alone _._ He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the headache already forming in the back of his head. He looked around the room – still the Mississippi safehouse. Then he looked at his hands - still bare.

 _Okay_ , he thought to himself, swallowing a bout of panic, _that doesn’t mean you’re still in that reality._

He checked his phone and read the date and time - it was still the same as when he’d woken up last time. Joe sighed; not bad, but not necessarily good. He hadn't just woken up from being shot, then.

He swung out of bed on shaky legs, stumbling out of the room to head downstairs. His heart was already thrumming with adrenaline and hope, a staccato beat of vulnerability that he hadn't felt in a long time. 

He sighed in relief when he saw Nicky leaning against the kitchen bench, talking quietly with Nile. _This is so much better, thank you, thank you, thank you-_

He rushed over to Nicky, ignoring Nile’s panicked look his way, and went to pull his husband into his arms-

-only to end up flat on his back, Nicky’s forearm pressed against his throat.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing, asshole?” Nicky hissed, “you know I’d gladly kill you any time, any place, but _we agreed_ to set it aside to train the kid.”

Joe thumped his head back on the ground with a groan.

He was wrong; this was much worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, we’ve really never…?” he trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. It was almost impossible to imagine a life with Nicky, but not with Nicky. 
> 
> Nicky dropped his gaze down to Joe’s lips. “There was one time- in Malta,” he said, flushing brightly. 
> 
> Joe fought the urge to smirk. At least some things never changed.

“Alright you two, no killing each other before breakfast. You know the rules,” came Andy’s voice as she shuffled into the kitchen.

Nicky shoved himself off of Joe and stood, running a hand through his hair. “He started it,” he muttered, gesturing at the ground. 

Joe flipped him off, because although Nicky was the love of his life, hitting his head on the ground _really fucking hurt._

“I don’t _care_ who started it, I’m finishing it,” Andy snapped, shooting a half-assed glare at Nile’s amused snort.

Joe, from his place on the floor, closed his eyes and sighed. _Okay. Not home, then._ He was in yet another reality, apparently one in which he and Nicky tended to kill each other.

Great. _Just great._

* * *

“So you’re from another universe,” Andy summed up dubiously, once Joe finished explaining to them the confusing events of the past day.

Joe nodded, ignoring the throbbing behind his eyes, “I now know it’s triggered when I die, but what I still don’t know is why it’s happening, or how I can get back to my reality.” He tried to keep his voice steady, void of panic, but Andy’s sympathetic look told him he didn’t quite succeed.

He kept darting his eyes over to Nicky, taking in this man who wasn’t his husband, but wore his handsome face. He’d deliberately left out some of the finer details, like Nicky being in the coffin, and the exact effect it had had on Joe. He wanted to leave that memory, that place, far behind him.

“This still doesn’t explain why you tried to attack me this morning,” Nicky snarked.

Joe really, _really_ liked the way his accent got a little thicker when he was irritated.

“Ah,” he said intelligently, opening and then immediately closing his mouth. He flicked his gaze between Nicky, Andy, and Nile, deciding whether or not to divulge this piece of information. He didn’t want to interfere in this reality, or cause any trouble.

Then Nicky rolled his eyes impatiently and Joe decided he had earned the right to be petty.

He smiled beatifically and revealed, “I wasn’t attacking you, I was trying to _hug_ you. In my universe, you and I are- together.” He wrinkled his nose a little at the tragic understatement of that word – _together._ More like, _share a soul, are one being, lovers._

“Together?” Nicky said all too calmly, with one raised brow. “Like- boyfriends?”

It was Joe’s turn to roll his eyes, “we’re _married_ , so it’s a little more serious than that, but yes.”

“ _I married you_?”

“Several times, yes,” Joe grinned and, because he couldn’t help himself, added, “I’m actually having trouble getting you to _stop_ marrying me.”

Nicky looked positively scandalised, and okay – Joe really didn’t like the disbelief he could see written all over Nicky’s face, but fucking with Nicky was one of his oldest and most treasured past times, and it’d been a _long_ time since he’d seen that face on his husband, like he’d just seen the Pope naked. It was _delightful._

Andy cleared her throat, interrupting their moment. “I’ll get in contact with Copley, then, I guess. See if we can’t fix this.” She stood up and left, squeezing Joe’s arm briefly as she passed. 

“Let me get this right; we've been fighting since the crusades?” Joe asked Nicky when Andy had left the room.

He was trying to imagine living all of his life with enough hate to fuel hundreds of years’ worth of conflict with one man. It sounded exhausting.

“You and I actually didn’t meet until after the first crusade was over,” Nicky explained, the way a parent might tell a child that they can’t eat dirt, “and we don’t fight _all_ the time,” he added.

“I don’t understand. We killed each other in Jerusalem, right?”

Nicky shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the flavour, “I was killed by a Saracen about 100 metres from the wall – struck by an arrow in the throat. I woke up a few hours later and left.”

Joe pushed the sugar pot toward him, and Nicky took it unthinkingly, adding another teaspoon to his cup. “You _left_?”

Nicky took another sip of his coffee before, smiling down at it briefly before he levelled Joe with an impressive glare. “Look, I’m perfectly aware of your views on how I acted in a war that was waged _over 900 years ago_ , Joe. _Cazzo_ , I’m sick of having this conversation,” he muttered, setting his cup down and folding his arms over himself.

It was so endearingly _Nicky_ , trying to comfort himself, that Joe had to smile. He barely resisted the impulse to fold himself into Nicky’s arms, to offer him reassurance - he really didn’t want to end up on the floor again.

Joe caught Nile’s bewildered look his way, and she snickered, “this is _so_ weird. Yesterday you two could barely say two words without brawling. Now you’re looking at him like-” she cut herself off, shaking her head amusingly while she scooped up another mouthful of cereal.

Nicky looked down at his coffee again, frowning like he’d just realised something. He looked up again, seemed to really _see_ Joe for the first time, eyes flickering over Joe’s face, which he was sure was open and soft with affection. He couldn’t help it, looking at Nicky – the man had his whole heart and soul.

Joe ached at the yearning he could read all over Nicky’s face. The Joe in this reality may not have known Nicky well enough to read him, but to Joe himself it was obvious - how long had they been dancing around each other?

Joe made a small sound in his throat to get Nicky’s attention. When Nicky met his eyes again, he said gently, “in my reality, we killed each other on the wall. And then we both woke up and killed each other again. Many times,” he added, chuckling at the memory.

Nicky narrowed his eyes, “and this somehow led to us…together,” he said sceptically, gesturing between them and the sugar pot.

Joe felt a pang in his chest for this Nicky, unforgiven and angry, looking like he might spring out of his skin at any moment. He reminded Joe of a feral cat, unnerved and distrustful of kindness.

“It wasn’t easy. We both had a lot to learn and overcome, and sure there were hard times, but-” Joe stopped, struggling to find the right words to say.

“But?” Nicky prompted, not unkindly.

Joe sighed. “But there was never any doubt that we were meant to find each other. Meant to- to love each other,” he finished lamely, letting the words hang in the air uselessly.

They’d always believed it was destiny. Meeting on the wall, killing each other - it was only through discovering that they each couldn’t die that they were able to step outside of the things they’d been taught in their old life, to bring down the wall between them altogether. They entered immortality together, lived it together, and would leave it _together._

How could 100 metres difference stretch out the distance of a millennium’s worth of love, unfilled? Was that really all it would have taken for them to miss out on each other?

 _That way madness lies_.

It certainly wasn’t helping his headache, thinking about all those possibilities. He excused himself quietly, leaving to his bedroom. Perhaps he could get some sleep before they went to see Copley.

* * *

After trying and failing to get comfortable without Nicky curled up beside him and with his head still pounding, Joe gave up on sleep and started snooping around his room. He supposed it wasn’t technically snooping if it was his room, but then again it wasn’t _really his_ , so he tried to be respectful about it.

He was glad to see that he had a few notepads and sketchbooks, of which he flicked through. He was also wholly unsurprised to see Nicky featured in a lot of them, his side profile, his smile, but mostly his eyes; swatches of green and blue in an obvious attempt to get the colour right. He hadn’t quite got there yet.

It wasn’t the same as his own drawings of Nicky; Joe had perfected the art of sketching his husband, had the advantage of having Nicky sit for him, of having Nicky by his side every day for hundreds of years, so that Joe could study him. This Joe was obviously still mastering it, and there was a hesitancy to it, like he didn’t want to be drawing Nicky, like he was embarrassed by his urge to capture Nicky’s beauty.

More than that, the difference between his art and the art he was holding in his hand was the _longing_ , carved into every line and stroke, a loneliness lingering in the shading. Joe had a hard time looking at his own soul, full of yearning, laid out so bare between each page.

Apparently they were both repressing a lot of unresolved tension. Joe huffed a laugh that was equally frustrated and amused. _Dumbasses._

Before he could think better of it, Joe grabbed a pencil and flicked back to the page studying Nicky’s eyes. He scribbled out his first note - _~~try adding grey to the green~~_ – and replaced it with _you won’t ever capture the colour until you’ve seen them bathed in the morning light, contrasted by your thumbs swiping tenderly under his eyes._

He heard a soft rap on the door, causing him to snap the sketchbook shut and shove it back on the desk. Nicky popped his head in and slipped inside, closing the door behind him before leaning against it.

“So,” he said. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t sure what he was doing there.

“So,” Joe agreed. A thought struck him then, and before he could stop himself, he asked, “so, we’ve really never…?” he trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence. It was almost impossible to imagine a life with Nicky, but not _with Nicky._

Nicky dropped his gaze down to Joe’s lips. “There was one time- in Malta,” he said, flushing brightly.

Joe fought the urge to smirk. _At least some things never changed._

“That good, huh?” Joe drawled, sending Nicky a wink under hooded eyes.

Nicky glared at him and shot back, “you know, I don’t really recall. It wasn’t very memorable.”

There was a special kind of distress pushing at Joe’s chest from having Nicky so close, and yet never having felt more apart from him. There was so much about the man standing in front of Joe that he didn’t know. It unsettled him, the love of his life looking at him like he was a stain on his shoe.

But Joe’s body, the one that knew his Nicky, that had been loved by that man for a millennium – found it utterly irresistible. Nicky was unfairly hot when he was mad, and Joe wanted nothing more than to ask Nicky to rail him against the door and pull his hair and call him filthy names.

Joe cleared his throat, not missing the way Nicky’s eyes dropped to his Adam’s apple as it bobbed in his throat.

“Well, I don’t know about the Joe in this reality, but I happen to have centuries’ worth of knowledge and practice on what makes you tick, habibi,” he said teasingly, making his way toward Nicky, who just _watched_ him, like he was waiting for something.

In a move braver than he felt, Joe leaned closer to Nicky, taking in his wide pupils, the intake of his breath – yep. That was Nicky turned on, _wa_ _nting._ Joe had seen it, in all of its forms, in countless countries, across rooms and decades and battlefields. 

Nicky’s gaze kept darting rapidly between Joe’s eyes and his lips, and _oh_ , it had been so long since Joe had seen such uncertainty in Nicky’s desire for Joe – it was powerful and enticing, had him closing his eyes and tilting his head to press his lips to Nicky’s.

Before he could, a hot line of agony burst across his lower abdomen. He gasped out a jagged breath as Nicky wormed the knife into his gut, and then slid it free with a quick, cruel slice.

“Oh,” Joe said faintly, as he fell against Nicky’s body, “that’s exactly where you did it the first time."

He collapsed onto the ground and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was blown away by your response to the first chapter of this! I'm super excited to keep going; comment below if you liked asshole Nicky!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looked down at her. She was, at most, two years old, with ruddy cheeks, bouncy dark curls and darker eyes, which she blinked up at Joe, before her face split into a wide grin. 
> 
> And just like that, Joe was a goner.
> 
> “Hello, habibti,” he whispered, matching her smile and poking her on the nose with his forefinger.

Joe groaned as he became aware of himself again, pulled out from the dredges of sleep – or was it death? Joe wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work. When he opened his eyes to see where he had ended up, he immediately froze as something caught his eye.

His heartbeat thudded hard in his chest, brain pounding with panic. He scrambled to sit up against the headboard of the bed and slammed his eyes shut, clapping a hand over his mouth. He took a deep breath and once again looked down at his body.

His very naked body. Which was _covered_ in hickeys.

He ran trembling fingers along his body, lifting the sheet pooled around his lap and pressing into one small bruise that bloomed along his thigh. He hissed with pain as it throbbed underneath the pressure. There was a small scratch along his wrist, possibly from scraping it against something, and-

There was a ring on his finger.

It wasn’t _his_ ring, but it was definitely a wedding band, glinting bright in the morning light.

He was mortal. He was mortal _and married_ , and he didn’t recognise the apartment he was in at all, and Nicky wasn’t here-

“Joe?”

_Oh, thank fuck._

Joe closed his eyes in relief, opening them again to look over at where Nicky’s voice was coming from, but not before steeling himself for whatever was waiting.

Nothing could have prepared Joe for the sight before him.

“ _Tesoro,_ did you hear me? I need you to take Amira for a moment _because papa is stinky_ ,” Nicky said from the doorway of the bedroom - though the last part he spoke mostly to the tiny human he was holding in his arms, wrinkling his nose and rubbing it against her - _Amira’s_ – cheek.

Joe could do nothing but stare in shock as Nicky carefully dumped the small child into his lap, pressing a quick kiss to Joe’s forehead before heading out of the room, presumably to shower.

Leaving him alone with the little girl.

He looked down at her. She was, at most, two years old, with ruddy cheeks, bouncy dark curls and darker eyes, which she blinked up at Joe, before her face split into a wide grin.

And just like that, Joe was a goner.

“Hello, _habibti,_ ” he whispered, matching her smile and poking her on the nose with his forefinger.

She shook her head, her teeny hands clenched in a fist in the bedsheet. Joe wondered idly, if she was his biological daughter – not that he would care if she wasn’t, having learnt a long time ago that a family forged was just as strong as a family made.

Had he always been mortal in this universe? He and Nicky had talked about what they would do if they lost their immortality together, and having a child together was something they’d considered briefly, but it’d never lasted long as an option – there were always too many other things to consider; whether it be their purpose or keeping their family together.

He glanced again at his wedding band; silver, but definitely not one of the ones Nicky had bought him in Malta from his reality. No, Joe decided, in this universe, they were just- Joe and Nicky. Mortal. Normal. _Parents._

He didn’t expect the sudden clench of envy around his heart.

Amira went to stand up on wobbly legs, breaking him from his thoughts, and then stumbled, unceremoniously flopping forward onto Joe’s chest. He scooped her up, nestled her safely into his arms, where she fit alarmingly well.

She banged her fist softly against his skin before she inadvertently grabbed at a chest hair and _pulled._

“Ow!” Joe laughed, gently extricating her hand from its grip on his hair.

He watched her big eyes search his own before she let out a gurgle of happiness, clearly thrilled in her mischief.

_Definitely her papa’s daughter._

“Oh, I see how it is,” he chuckled.

Joe slotted his hands underneath her armpits and lifted her up, so her belly was level with his face and promptly blew a raspberry into the skin there. She _shrieked_ in delight, legs kicking out wildly as she giggled. He did it again just to hear her squeal louder.

Nicky returned to the room, hair still damp, dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt. He looked achingly familiar to his own Nicky, but there was something different about him that Joe couldn’t quite place.

Nicky clocked Amira’s hiccoughing laughter and grinned, making his way over to pick Amira up. Joe tamped down on the urge to grab her back; _he only just got her,_ some part of him whined sorrowfully.

“What is daddy doing to you, hm?” Nicky cooed at her, unfazed as Amira slapped a hand against his nose. He turned to Joe and said, “I haven’t been able to get her to stop fussing all morning, but a few minutes with you and she’s sunshine and rainbows.”

He shook his head endearingly at Joe, and he gave Nicky a bemused shrug.

“I guess she just likes me better,” he sighed serenely. _God,_ his cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Nicky rolled his eyes before looking at Amira with overexaggerated suspicion. “I think you two are conspiring against me,” he accused, readjusting her so he was holding her with just one arm.

He ran his free hand through Joe’s hair, looking softly down at him. “Coffee?” Nicky offered, cocking his head to the side, “you look tired, _mio caro_.”

That’s when it hit him; the difference he could see in Nicky before. He didn’t have that weariness, that world-bearing weight on his shoulders. He looked _light,_ with an unguarded joy that Joe didn’t recognise.

Joe fought the tears that threatened to spring up and nodded, clearing his throat to utter a quiet _thank you_ to Nicky, watching him carry Amira out of the room.

This was a Nicky that Joe had never seen. One that had lived an ordinary life, had still met Joe and fallen in love, started a family. One that never had to go to war, or see Joe die, or die himself.

A sudden fear gripped Joe. If he died in this dimension, would it be permanent? He was definitely inhabiting the bodies of his other selves, that much was obvious, but would this reality’s Joe wake up again if he died and hopped to the next reality?

He ran his hands down his face, forced himself to take a few more deep breaths. He could figure this out. He could. He was getting back to his Nicky, without fucking it up for the other Joe.

Making his way out of the bedroom, Joe tried his best to look nonchalant as he took in the rest of the apartment. He walked through the small living area, which was littered with bookshelves that, from a quick glance, were full of an array of fiction and non-fiction texts, in a variety of languages.

There was art hanging from some of the walls, though Joe couldn’t tell if it was his own or not – except for the few framed pieces that were clearly the work of their daughter. Joe appraised them, fiercely proud and terribly fond.

Amira was in her highchair at the small dining table, and Nicky was fiddling with something in the kitchen, angled so he could still see Amira in his periphery.

“Could you grab the milk for me?” Nicky asked without looking up.

Joe crossed over the small space and dutifully opened the fridge to pick out the carton of milk. When he closed it, he was met with a collection of photos, stuck on haphazardly with tape across the surface. There were pictures of him and Nicky, of Amira, and-

Joe’s eyes crinkled in a smile at the polaroid, featuring himself with one arm slung around Nicky, and the other around Booker. In the middle was Nile, smiling brightly, and next to her, arms wrapped around each other, were Andy and Quynh.

 _His family_. He wondered what they were like – did Booker have kids? Was Nile in the army? How did Andy and Quynh meet? Did Joe have parents? Did Nicky? So many questions raced around in his brain, slamming into him hard enough that his headache came back with full force.

One hand came to rest on the small of his back and the other gently pried the milk from his grasp. Joe startled, head turning to face a concerned Nicky.

“Are you okay, Joe? You’ve been- quiet, this morning,” Nicky said, a frown creasing his features.

Joe didn’t want Nicky to be concerned. He wanted to keep this Nicky worry-free and happy, just as he should be.

Joe shook his head, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle, “yes, habibi, my head is sore, that’s all. It’ll pass,” he said, hoping he was convincing enough to reassure Nicky.

Nicky seemed to buy it, making a soft sympathetic noise. Joe supposed the one thing this Nicky didn’t have was hundreds of years’ worth of experience calling Joe out on his bullshit. He would never be able to get away with lying to his Nicky; the man could read him simply by the slightest change in his breathing.

“Maybe you should go back to sleep. I wore you out last night,” Nicky flashed a cheeky smile that made Joe’s heart stutter, “go on. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

Joe smiled and pressed a lingering kiss to Nicky’s forehead, breathing in his scent. He didn’t smell the same as his Nicky, he noted with a small pang of disappointment.

When Joe slid back into bed (it was _supremely_ comfortable, so kudos to this reality’s Joe), he grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed, curling around it. It was a poor substitute for Nicky, but it would have to do.

With great effort, he managed to close his eyes and dispel the growing panic from his brain, his breath evening out as he fell into sleep.

* * *

When Joe blinked awake again, he was temporarily disoriented by blinding white lights. He hissed and slammed his eyes shut against the brightness piercing his brain. He went to move his arms to block it out, but stopped short when he was met with resistance. They were strapped down to something.

 _Fuck._ Fuck, fuck-

Joe opened his eyes again to the horrifyingly familiar scene of Merrick’s lab. Nostrils flaring in terror, he struggled against his restraints uselessly, before beating his head back against the table in despair. He turned to the side, an impending sense of dread growing in his gut-

“Nicolo,” Joe croaked, looking over at his husband, who was grunting in pain as Kozak sliced a long laceration down his middle. Joe was going to throw up.

“Yusuf,” Nicky groaned, “Yusuf, please look away,” he pleaded desperately, eyes clenched shut, hands seizing up as he tried to breathe through the pain.

What was he doing there? What were _they_ still doing there? It had been _months_ since Merrick’s lab in his reality. Did he travel in time?

Joe tried to suppress the bile rising in his throat, centring himself enough that he could take in some of the details around him. There was no way to tell time in the lab, but a quick glance down at himself confirmed that he was indeed malnourished, and when he looked over at Nicky again, he noted that his hair had grown out a bit longer.

Which left only one possible option.

No one had come to save them.

He felt hot and cold all at once, a horrendous feeling of hopelessness overcoming his senses. Had Andy lost her immortality and died trying to save them? Where was Nile? Had Booker given up on them?

Joe pushed against the straps on his arms again. He could fix this – maybe this was the reason he was sent to these realities, he thought deliriously, maybe there was something he could do to help.

“Nicky,” Joe urged, voice frantic and loud, “Nicky, listen to me, I’m going to get you out of here, I’m going to get _us_ out of here, I swear it-”

Then he felt a sharp prick in his neck, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lykon took the polaroid :) 
> 
> How are we feeling? Want to murder me, yet? Let me know in the comments


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky brushed a thumb across Joe’s cheek. “You’re not my Yusuf,” he concluded with intimidating confidence and calm. He didn’t seem shocked by this information, nor did he move his hands from Joe’s face.
> 
> Joe frowned, “how can you-” 
> 
> “Your eyes. They’re uh-” Nicky cleared his throat, “too young.”

Joe jolted awake, sitting upright with a shuddering gasp of breath, acid burning in his throat. He barely had the forethought to register where he was, just that he wasn’t back _there_ , in that awful place. He coughed a wave of nausea down, mind still racing, adrenaline pumping from the image burning behind his eyes, of Nicky strapped down to that table, in pain, _begging_ Joe to look away.

And Joe couldn’t save him.

Joe couldn’t save him, like he couldn’t save the Nicky from the iron maiden, like he couldn’t save Nicky from his own self-hatred-

Before he registered it, his breathing was laboured to a full wheeze, struggling to take in air. His hands were shaking violently, weak and panicked. He pressed them to his mouth to stifle a sob. His eyes were unfocused, vision blurry with tears.

How many times had he failed to keep the love of his life safe?

How many universes?

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he whimpered into his fist, to no one, to _Nicky._

A hand on his shoulder startled him out of his spiral, jerking back into the headboard. He blinked rapidly, trying to concentrate on the blunt shape kneeling in front of him – though he didn’t have to see to know who it was.

Who else would it be?

“What on earth are you apologising for, my love?” Nicky asked softly, ocean eyes boring into his soul.

Joe threw himself at Nicky, who let out a small _oof_ as Joe collided with his body. He wrapped his trembling arms around Nicky, sticking his face into Nicky’s neck. Taking several deep breaths, he noted glumly that this Nicky didn’t smell quite right either, his nose picking up traces of white peach and ginger underneath cheap soap.

Nicky let out a small chuckle, hands coming up to stroke Joe’s hair, which was a lot longer than he usually wore it, falling along his shoulders, half of it tied up in a knot on his head.

Comforted by Nicky’s presence, Joe peeked his head out over Nicky’s shoulder to survey the room. The bed they were sitting on was large, pressed up against the corner of a stone wall. On the nightstand sat two burner phones, and Joe thought he could spot the end of a prayer mat rolled up next to the vanity on the other side of the room. The New Zealand safehouse, then. They hadn’t used that one in years.

Joe pulled back from Nicky’s embrace, though Nicky only moved his hands down to cup Joe’s face, piercing eyes searching his own. Joe felt stripped bare under his gaze, his hand coming up to cover one of Nicky’s.

Nicky brushed a thumb across Joe’s cheek. “You’re not my Yusuf,” he concluded with intimidating confidence and calm. He didn’t seem shocked by this information, nor did he move his hands from Joe’s face.

Joe frowned, “how can you-”

“Your eyes. They’re uh-” Nicky cleared his throat, “too young.”

Joe couldn’t help the flush that rose up in his cheeks. Nicky was still looking at him so tenderly, with such great understanding in his face. It had been a while since Joe had felt so off-kilter, on such unequal footing with Nicky. 

“How old are we?”

Nicky smiled sheepishly, “ _old._ Perhaps too old.”

 _Huh._ Joe sat with that for a moment, attempting to reconcile it with his own reality.

“Are Andy and Quynh…?” Joe asked hesitantly.

Understanding dawned on Nicky’s face, before he quickly assured Joe, “they’re undercover in the US with the rest of our family. There’s a situation- it’s unimportant though. We,” he gestured between them with one hand, “are unable to leave the country at the moment due to a pandemic, so we’ve been waiting it out here before we join them in Australia.”

Joe nodded silently, although Nicky’s response raised more questions than it answered. It must have shown on his face, because Nicky gave him a sympathetic smile and rose up from the bed, taking Joe’s hand.

“Come,” he said, pulling Joe up with him, “I will make you shakshuka and we can tell each other our stories.”

Joe couldn’t help but shoot Nicky a flirty smile; it was all too easy to slip into this role with Nicky, to walk this worn and well-loved path.

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

Nicky returned the smile easily, lifting Joe’s hand to press a kiss to his knuckle.

“I’m assuming from the way you threw yourself at me before, that you also have one of these,” he said, gaze pointedly dropping to Joe’s hand, “wherever you came from.”

Joe glanced down, noticing, for the first time, the ring adorning his finger.

“Oh,” he said, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, “that’s my ring.”

The one that Nicky had given him in Malta, the one he’d slipped on Joe’s finger before kissing him like Joe was the only air he’d ever needed.

Nicky beamed. “Just as I thought,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over the piece of jewellery.

* * *

The shakshuka was delicious. Joe scoffed it down, only realising how hungry he felt until he smelled the mixture of paprika and tomato wafting from the pan.

While he ate, Nicky told him the story of how they met; how Yusuf pulled Nicolo from the rubbles of Pompeii, how they’d been inseparable ever since. Joe recounted his own story, how they were on opposite sides of an unholy war, had been each other’s first deaths.

“You met each other during the crusades? _Mio dio,_ it is a wonder you were able to overcome that,” Nicky mused, visibly impressed.

Joe opened his mouth to argue, to recount his usual spiel of _it was destiny_ , but found they felt…wrong. Like a false prophecy, or a foreign language, sitting oddly on his tongue.

Nicky didn’t comment on the drop in conversation, quickly moving on to the strange events that Joe was going through. Joe had been hoping, somewhat irrationally, that this Nicky might have an idea of what was happening to him. But when Joe asked, Nicky simply shook his head and shrugged.

“I don’t have all the answers, unfortunately. I’m sorry,” he said, and Joe could see that Nicky meant it whole-heartedly.

Still, Joe couldn’t help the hopeless feeling that rose up in his chest. He looked down at his ring again, then at the matching one on Nicky’s hand. The Nicky in his own reality didn’t wear his ring during missions. _I’d never forgive myself if I lost it,_ he would say, and Joe knew that was true. So Joe wore both of them. It was at once a comfort and a weight to have it back now. Did he deserve to wear it? After failing Nicky in so many ways?

Nicky took his hand from across the table, breaking him from his thoughts.

“What would your Nicky tell you to do?”

Joe couldn’t help the fond smile that graced his features as he replied, “he would tell me to trust that the universe will bring us back together.”

Nicky nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

“So do that. Lean into it, stop resisting. There must be a purpose to all of this, yes?”

Joe wanted to believe that, but with each new reality he became more and more lost on what that purpose could be.

Regardless of his feelings, he nodded. Because what else could he do? He closed his eyes and sighed, tilting his head up toward the ceiling. He was so tired.

When he opened them again, Nicky was staring at him with an intense look in his eyes. Joe cleared his throat and Nicky dropped his gaze, abashed.

“Sorry, you look so much like him- but also very different.” Nicky shook his head, “It is… disorienting.”

Joe smiled wryly, “I’ve been thinking the same thing all day.”

* * *

Joe decided quickly after that that it was a good idea to give this Nicky his own Joe back. Nicky had sat beside him and stroked his hair while Joe laid down on the bed. He’d tamped down the lingering fears of what was on the other side, grounded by Nicky’s touch, and drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Joe gradually dragged himself to wakefulness, blinking against the sunny morning light. He rolled over on rumpled sheets, dimly aware that he was naked, and looked around the room. Joe was laying on a mattress in a studio apartment, with high ceilings and exposed brick walls. Surveying the room, he found canvasses, big and small, littered along the walls, on easels, on the floor – so whatever this reality was, he had some serious time for art. Joe couldn’t help but nod to himself, impressed by the work he saw.

Joe let out an explosive sigh and ran his hand through his hair – or at least, he tried to, but his hand only met short stubble. When he felt along his jaw, he realised his beard was also much shorter, almost a shadow compared to the length he regularly kept it at. He rubbed at it absentmindedly as he wondered what else this universe had in store for him.

His train of thought was interrupted by a gruff voice crooning from behind the door to what he guessed was the bathroom. Joe let a smile lift his features; he’d missed Nicky’s singing voice. At least, whatever was happening, Nicky was here.

That was something. That was everything.

The door to the bathroom swung open, and there was Nicky, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, still damp from his shower. Joe let his eyes rake over Nicky’s body, gaze catching on the beard that Nicky was sporting, and- were those _earrings?_

Nicky smiled when he spotted Joe and came to crouch beside the mattress, looking down at Joe. A few strands of hair falling in front of his face and Nicky pushed it back, clearly irritated by it. Joe fell a little bit more in love with him, if that was possible.

He reached out before he could stop himself and fiddled with one of the earrings in Nicky’s ears. They were small golden hoops, so completely unalike anything his Nicky would wear. The man shivered, catching Joe’s wrist to place a kiss on the skin there.

“I had a good time last night,” Nicky whispered shyly when he pulled away, “we should do it again sometime.”

A wave of fondness rushed over him at the thought of Nicky being bashful, when Joe had a pretty good idea of what went down _last night._ He grinned as Nicky gave him another kiss, this time on his palm, before Nicky pulled away.

Affection quickly turned to panic when Nicky turned around to rummage for his clothes, obviously preparing his exit. Joe wracked his brain for an excuse to get Nicky to stay. He couldn’t just let him get away from this Joe – had they met somewhere last night, or was this a date? Joe thought he had a pretty good idea, but he didn’t want to push it by being too _needy._

Nicky had slid his underwear back on, and was looking for his shirt. Joe spotted it at the same time Nicky did, on the foot of the mattress. Nicky hesitated a second before going to grab it, and suddenly Joe knew exactly what to do to get Nicky to stay.

He caught Nicky by the wrist, blushing when Nicky stopped what he was doing and looked back at him patiently.

“Stay?” Joe asked, helplessly hopeful in a way he couldn’t remember being with Nicky in a long time, “just for a while?”

Nicky’s smile was bright and beautiful in the light of the apartment.

“Of course, Joe,” he said.

Joe smiled, feeling relieved and utterly ridiculous at the same time. This was _them_ ; Joe and Nicky. All he had to do was ask.

Joe scooted back a little too make room for him, and Nicky slid back into the bed, folded into Joe’s body. Joe wrapped his arm around Nicky’s waist and closed his eyes. He felt himself go under immediately, with his face pressed against Nicky’s neck, Nicky's hair tickling Joe’s nose.

* * *

The first thing that Joe noticed when he woke again was that he wasn’t in a bed, but slumped up against something. The next thing he noticed was that his abdomen hurt like a motherfucker.

He opened one eye slightly, peering out to see Nicky, clutching a knife and watching him intently.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joe groaned. _Not this one again._

“Did it work?” Nicky said, poking Joe’s shoulder.

“No, you asshole,” Joe grumbled, swatting his hand away. Then he amended, “well, technically it did. I did travel to some other realities. But now I’m back.”

“ _Cazzo_ ,” Nicky swore, grabbing Joe’s hand and hauling them both up to their feet.

Joe tried to keep his mind carefully blank, to keep himself from freaking out. He didn’t know why he was back here, and if he started asking questions he feared he might not stop.

“Believe me, I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” Joe said, grimacing when he touched his blood-stained shirt.

Joe pulled his ruined shirt over his head, dumping it on the floor. When he turned around to search for a new one, he caught Nicky’s intense eyes on him.

He shot Nicky a wary glance, “you’re not gonna stab me again, are you? I think Jesus said something about gouging one’s eyes out if one was tempted.”

Nicky’s flush grew impossibly redder, and he clenched his jaw indignantly. Joe huffed and grabbed a shirt from a pile on the floor behind him, sniffing it before throwing it on.

“Is this what you’re like with your Nicky? He’s a lucky guy,” Nicky said, sarcasm dripping from his tone like molasses.

It struck a nerve, but it was meant to; Nicky was a trained sniper, knew exactly where to hit and how hard. Coupled with the confusing and agonising events weighing on him, and the ache in his heart from missing _his_ Nicky, Joe felt his patience snap in two.

He whipped around to get in Nicky’s face. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about him. You are not him, you could _never_ be him, so you don’t get to talk about him. Got it?”

He could actually see the moment Nicky shut down, shuttering into himself, before a mask of cool indifference spread over his features. He scoffed and left the room, slamming the door behind him, leaving Joe alone in the room.

Joe sighed, immediate guilt replacing the brief satisfaction of letting himself be angry. He felt incredibly young, bickering with Nicky like they were still out in the Maghreb, kicking desert sand in Nicolo’s eyes just so he didn’t have to keep staring into them. 

He went to the door, intending to find Nicky and apologise. When he opened it, Andy was on the other side, fist raised in a knock. She dropped it, looking Joe up and down appraisingly.

“So it didn’t work,” she said.

“You _knew_ about this?” Joe asked, incredulous.

Andy shrugged. “Hey, it was Nicky’s idea. I figured it was worth a shot, get you off our hands, move you along, you know?”

Joe just stared at her, unimpressed.

“Alright,” she sighed, “I’m sorry. Nicky wasn’t handling it very well, and I thought it would be best for _this_ family, if we got our Joe back. We’ve been trying to keep a low profile after the Merrick incident.”

Joe shook his head, pointing out, “It’s been almost ten months since Merrick. In my reality, we started going on missions after three or four. Sure, Merrick _‘throwing himself off a building’_ raised some questions, but you guys got Nicky and I out quick enough and Copley covered our asses.”

Andy smirked and said, “yeah well, I guess we weren’t counting on Nicky going apeshit when you and Booker got taken. He left a bloody trail that was hard to cover up. Speaking of Copley though,” she continued, waving a pair of car keys in Joe’s face, “he wants to see you.”

And with that, Andy turned around and marched down the stairs. Joe stood there dumbly for a few seconds, trying and failing to process that information, before scrambling to follow her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's back! Let me know how you guys liked this chapter! It's been super fun reading all your comments so far, you guys are the best!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let’s try this: is there any common thread among all these realities?” Copley asked.
> 
> Joe flicked his gaze back over to Nicky before he even thought about it. Nicky caught the movement, momentarily distracted from his task of eviscerating Copley with his gaze to frown at Joe.
> 
> Joe cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “It seems the realities I visit are defined by Nicky, even in his absence,” he divulged quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tentative TW for very mild body dysphoria at the end of this chapter

“You’re not going to like this, but I’m afraid I didn’t find anything irregular in your scans. And as for the ‘dimension hopping,’ as you put it, there isn’t really much beyond fiction about individuals inhabiting the bodies of their other selves in alternate realities,” Copley said regretfully as he walked back into the living room.

Joe gave a resigned nod from his place on the sofa, shifting back into it awkwardly. It figured that Copley would pick an uncomfortable couch in every reality.

He didn’t miss the nervous glances that Copley was sending Nicky. Nicky was seated calmly on the armchair on the opposite side of the room, eyes trained on Copley like a predator, ready to pounce. Joe imagined that his sniper wouldn’t feel out of place in Nicky’s arms, with the way he was focusing intently on the other man.

Andy’s words rang clear as a bell in Joe’s mind – _He_ _left a bloody trail that was hard to cover up_. Just what had Nicky done when he found Copley?

Never mind that, what had he done when he got to Booker?

On the car ride over, Joe had sat in the front with Andy, while Nile and Nicky chatted in the backseat together. Nicky had told her about the time that he and Andy had apparently broken into a museum and stolen a Rodin statue. Andy had insisted it was hers, _so they weren’t really stealing_ , and Joe had looked out the window and tried his best not to feel like a stranger in his own body.

“Let’s try this: is there any common thread among all these realities?” Copley asked, and Joe couldn’t help but picture the wall he’d created of them all, with the twine connecting them all together.

Joe flicked his gaze back over to Nicky before he even thought about it. Nicky caught the movement, momentarily distracted from his task of eviscerating Copley with his gaze to frown at Joe.

Joe cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “It seems the realities I visit are defined by Nicky, even in his absence,” he divulged quietly.

Nicky let out a strangled sound, but Joe wasn’t looking at him.

Andy raised her eyebrows and turned to Copley, “could that mean anything?”

Copley shook his head, “It’s impossible to tell, at this stage.”

From the corner of his eye, Joe watched Nicky excuse himself and exit the room. He turned his head to Andy, who jerked her head toward the direction Nicky went.

Joe knew an order when he saw one; he sighed and followed Nicky outside.

* * *

Nicky was leaning against the outside wall of Copley’s ridiculous house (seriously, Joe was really starting to understand the phrase _money can’t buy sense_ ). He held a lighter in his palm, which he flicked open and used to light a cigarette.

Joe tried not to stare too hard as Nicky took a long drag and blew it out in one long exhale, but Nicky caught him and rolled his eyes.

“I wish you would stop looking at me like that,” he muttered, tapping on the end of the cigarette.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken,” Nicky clarified on another smoky exhale. “Just because _I’m not him_ , doesn’t mean I’m not a whole person.”

He didn’t sound angry. He sounded tired.

Joe rubbed the back of his neck, “I shouldn’t have said that, earlier. It was cruel.”

Nicky shrugged, before turning to look at Joe with that intense stare.

“Something happened. Between now and the last time you were here. Before you were annoying, but now you are sad.” Nicky frowned, wrinkling his nose in distaste, “it’s worse.”

Joe graciously decided not to point out Nicky’s desperate attempt to change the subject. Instead he sighed and leaned against the wall next to Nicky, who silently offered him the cigarette. Joe waved it off; him and Nicky had stopped smoking in the ‘90s, after they’d learned how terrible it was for the environment.

“I only visited a handful of places after here. Some were good,” Joe smiled, thinking about Amira’s laughter, “some were… not good. I guess I’m just confused about what all of this means.”

Which was an understatement. Joe was completely and utterly lost, with no lifeline to cling to except the fraying hope that he’d somehow end up back in his own reality, with his own Nicky, soon.

Nicky swallowed, nodding a few times, considering something.

Then he began talking.

“We weren’t really on speaking terms when Booker called about the job in South Sudan, hadn’t been for a few years.” He lifted the cigarette to his lips and took another drag.

Joe was still reeling from the idea of not talking to Nicky for _years_ , when Nicky spoke up again. 

“The blockade in the Gaza strip restricted electricity to the hospital; we were running supplies past the border, trying to help.” Nicky stared down at his hand, flexing it before curling it into a fist. “You held my hand so, so tightly as the power failed in the intensive care ward one night. Two babies died before the backup power supply kicked in.”

Joe inhaled sharply.

“We weren’t doing any good. You wanted to keep fighting, but I-I couldn’t keep watching it destroy you, little by little, every day.” Nicky shook his head, as if he was still trying to convince himself of that fact, before continuing, “so I killed you, and I dragged you out of there, smuggled us out of the country. You were furious with me, told me the only thing I knew how to do was _leave._ ”

Nicky chuckled drily at that, before he went on, “so I left. And I wasn’t with you when those guards came in and attacked. They took you and Booker, the _bastardo_ , just like he wanted. I had to hear about it from Andy over a _phone call_ -” Nicky cut himself off and exhaled shakily, dropping the last of his cigarette and crushing it under his boot.

“On our way out, this man – _Keane -_ gassed us. I saw him take out the zip ties and I just had this feeling in my gut that if he got us, he wasn’t letting us go. I’ve never felt so desperate in my life, just trying to keep him away from you.”

Joe held his breath, heart in his throat. He remembered this part all too well. The fear, the gas choking his lungs, barely able to see, just trying to get Keane _away_ from Nicky.

Nicky let his head drop back against the wall and closed his eyes before continuing, “he shot me, right in the mouth. And the next thing I remember, I was looking up and you had crawled over to me. You had this look in your eyes like I’d never seen before.” He opened his eyes and smiled at Joe, the sincerest one Joe had seen so far, “like that,” he added softly, nodding toward him.

“The last 10 months have been- fraught, between my Joe and me. I pushed for Booker’s exile, because you had spent time in that lab with Booker, and you empathised with him. But he put you in harm’s way for his own selfish reasons, and there had to be a price. You miss him though, I can tell.”

Joe tried to hide his surprise at that, waiting for Nicky to go on.

“He hadn’t looked at me like that since Keane killed me, and then you showed up this morning, with your stupid doe eyes, and I thought- well. It doesn’t matter now,” Nicky finished, shaking his head, glancing back up at Joe.

Joe ached for him, for the Joe in this reality, for all that could have been. They deserved better than this, deserved better than the quiet resignation on Nicky’s face and the longing in Joe’s drawings.

“He loves you, you know,” Joe said. Because it was true.

Joe had been to several realities (one would argue too many) and the common thread in each one was that they loved each other. No matter the circumstance, what was separating them – they loved each other.

Nicky let out a strained, mirthless laugh.

“I know.”

* * *

Joe spent the rest of the day researching with Copley and the team. Well, Nile chose to ‘research’ by watching _Avengers: Endgame_ , which Nicky apparently detested enough to give up on glaring at Copley to pick apart scene by scene, much to Nile’s displeasure.

The research gave little insight. Joe could only hope that the return to this universe signalled some sort of change, perhaps. Or maybe it was all random. There was no way for him to tell and with each paper he read, his frustration grew.

Andy made him memorise everything they managed to get through, so he could catch up other Copley’s, should he need to. Joe’s headache had returned with a vengeance by the end of the day.

They decided to keep Joe at Copley’s for the night, which meant the team was also staying at Copley’s house ( _because we don’t abandon family_ , Andy said with a pointed look to Nicky, who flipped her off).

Unfortunately, it also meant Joe was sleeping on Copley’s supremely uncomfortable couch.

Nicky was curled up on the armchair still, pretending to sleep. Joe tossed and turned on the sofa for an hour before he sighed loudly.

“What’s wrong?” Nicky asked without opening his eyes.

When Joe didn’t answer straight away, Nicky opened them to frown at Joe in concern.

Joe bit his lip, torn between asking Nicky for what he wanted or just shooting himself. He wasn’t sure which option would be more painful.

“Look, I know it’s not fair to ask, but I can’t sleep without-.”

“It’s fine,” Nicky said too quickly, getting up from his seat. Joe’s brows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t say anything, afraid to scare Nicky off.

Once Nicky made his way to Joe’s couch, clearly at a loss for what he was supposed to do next, Joe shifted against the cushions and opened his arms in a clear invitation.

Nicky curled up into Joe, back pressed to Joe’s front. It wasn’t the position or the piece of furniture for it, and Joe could feel his lungs struggling against Nicky’s body pushing him into the couch, and Nicky’s shoulders were too tense, but it was perfect because it was _Nicky._

Joe slid an arm over Nicky’s chest and took his hand. “When your Joe returns, promise me you’ll tell him,” he whispered.

“Tell him what?”

“That you love him, too.”

Nicky didn’t say anything in reply, but his grip on Joe’s hand tightened.

* * *

For the first time in too long, Joe woke up holding Nicky in his arms. He instinctually tightened his grip, nuzzling his face further into the back of his neck. Hair tickled his nose, and he opened his eyes to shift Nicky’s hair out of the way, only to go very, very still.

Because it was a woman that he was holding in his arms.

 _What straight hell is this…?_ He thought frenetically, before he realised that the arm wrapped around the woman was significant more slender and less hairy than he remembered it being.

He looked down at himself, confirming that yes, those were breasts, and no, there wasn’t a penis between his legs. It was incredibly disorienting, the sense of _wrongness_ as he looked down at a body that was so different from what was in his brain. 

“Josie?” Came a lilting voice.

“Um,” he said, clamping his mouth shut in shock at the difference in his voice.

Nicky (was her name still Nicky?) rolled over and oh- those were definitely Nicky’s eyes, that seafoam shade, beautiful and big. Her nose was not quite as prominent as his Nicky’s, but still a notable feature of her face, which was objectively stunning (Joe was gay, but he wasn’t blind).

“Did something happen, _bellissima_?” she asked, brows drawing together in a frown, reaching for the gun that Nicky kept underneath the pillow.

“It’s a long story. Maybe we should go downstairs and make coffee – you’re going to need it.”

* * *

“We’re _men_ where you come from?” Nicky (She _was_ still called Nicky, here, it turned out) asked, glancing to Andy (who called himself Hector, for some reason) with a look of undisguised aversion.

“Hey, right back at you, _habibi_ ,” Joe smiled, and she rolled her eyes fondly.

Nile - Neil, here - was glancing between around at everyone in the room, obviously trying to picture them all as the opposite gender.

In this universe, Joe was _shorter_ than Nicky, with tight, short curls and what Nile would refer to as _thunder thighs_. Nicky was slender but toned, with long sandy blonde hair that she tucked behind her ear as she scrutinised Joe with her big eyes.

A question had been bugging Joe ever since he woke up. “How did we meet?” he asked, gesturing between himself and Nicky.

Nicky blushed, “you were the daughter of a trading merchant, and you insisted on coming along your father’s travels. We met in Genoa, where I was in the nunnery and, well-”

“You seduced her from the monastery, and you _never_ let us forget about it,” Hector finished for her, flashing Joe a wink. Hector was built, and wore short hair and earrings like Andy, with the same cool grey eyes.

Joe laughed, delighted, “so we didn’t fight in the crusades?”

Andy’s eyes darkened at that. “We don’t fight in any wars, period. Not after Quân.”

Joe opened his mouth to ask, but a swift kick from Nicky under the table made him promptly shut it.

 _Interesting_ ; a world where they didn’t fight in wars. He wondered what they _did_ do, then. Nicky still had a gun, and Joe could tell his body had some serious strength in it.

A woman came into the room, then, with green eyes and blonde hair and - was that Booker?

“Page, come and meet Joe! He’s from a universe where we’re apparently war criminals, and you have a penis,” Neil said cheerfully.

Joe decided then and there that he had had enough of this day. He was going to mark it on a calendar, and every year for the rest of his life, he was going to spend this day in bed with _his_ Nicky, fucking each other senseless.

_Penis non-optional._

Page just sighed, pressing a hand to her temple. She muttered, “I’m too sober for this.”

Definitely Booker, then.

* * *

The decision to stay in that universe was taken out of Joe’s hands when he tripped over trying to clip on his bra and knocked himself out.

It’s not one he’ll be telling Nicky about, that’s for sure.

* * *

The next time he woke up, Joe was very much alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you’re aware, I imagined everyone in the gender-bent verse with specific attributes and fully fleshed out bodies in my mind – except Booker, who is still just Matthias Schoenaerts in a dress. That is my vision for this verse and no, I don’t accept criticism. 
> 
> Andromache is called Hector because in Greek Mythology, Andromache is Hector’s wife in the Iliad and I honestly couldn’t think of anything else.  
> (Also Page is a play on words from le livre; the book, which Booker’s nickname comes from originally. In case anyone missed that terrible pun.)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nicky?” Joe croaked, “Nicky, what’s going on?”
> 
> Was he back? Was it finally over, was he home? He couldn’t tell where he was, or when it was; couldn’t register anything other than the agony screaming in his body, and the man above him, whispering desperate pleads for Joe to come back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for attempted suicide

Joe was alone.

He was aware of the fact before he even opened his eyes, could feel the heaviness of it in his limbs as he regained consciousness. The throbbing in his head was back, settled in the cradle of his skull like it was trying to carve right into the bone.

Blinking his eyes open, Joe was hit first with the smell; the acrimony of sticky, spilled vodka and stale air. Hard wooden floorboards were digging into his shoulder blades, and when he rolled over, he was met with the sight of the lower half of the living room in their Malta house.

Joe could already feel the dread creeping in. Ever since he woke up in Mississippi, Joe had been worried, anxious about this terrible inevitability. _This_ was the trap door in the pit of his stomach that he had been waiting for. Something even worse than Nicky lost in the sea.

Tumbling through an indefinite number of universes of Nicky, how long until Joe encountered the one where he was living his greatest fear?

He could go back to sleep. He could close his eyes, go somewhere else, shove this place somewhere far back in the recesses of his mind and never think about it again.

But he had to know.

The house – their _home_ – was in disarray. Walking through it on shaky legs, splintered by trepidation, Joe observed books yanked from their place on the wall, smashed wine bottles, an empty carton of cigarettes. On the coffee table, recently cleaned and in pristine condition, sat Nicky’s sword and sniper rifle.

Joe ran a hand over his face, his stomach a swirling pool of acid. A shock of cool metal hit his lips. He moved his hand far enough out to see that he was only wearing one ring.

_Did Nicky have-?_

He refused to let himself finish that thought.

The kitchen was almost untouched, a layer of dust coating the countertops. Joe’s desk, however-

Joe remembered when Nicky made him that desk. He’d bemoaned that nothing he could find was right for when he wanted to work on his art. True to form, Nicky had listened intently to Joe’s requirements, had gone out, bought the supplies and built him his dream desk from scratch.

The wood was a deep mahogany, thick, based upon black metal feet with wheels, so Joe could move it where he wanted. It had been shoved into the living room, which Joe liked to do because _this room gets the best light, my love._

Nicky would often have to come and drag Joe to bed some nights, padding softly down the stairs and folding himself over Joe’s body, coaxing him gently away from whatever he was working on.

 _Come back to me_ , he would say, eyes crinkling in delight. And Joe would, every time, without fail.

The desk was currently littered with paper, and on each and every piece, was Nicky. Meticulously drawn, over and over, like-

Like he was trying to make sure he remembered what Nicky looked like.

Joe barely made it to the sink before emptying the contents of his stomach.

With shaking hands, he turned the tap on and gulped a mouthful of water, then spit out the next one into the basin. It felt like his own personal hellscape; he was tempted to throw open to curtains just to see if there was anything outside or just a great emptiness, like the one inside of him.

 _This isn’t my life_ , he reminded himself desperately, _this isn’t my reality._

He didn’t have to stay there. 

He nodded to himself, centred by the thought, making his way to their bedroom without so much as looking at anything else. He didn’t have to, could walk the house completely blind, knew every creak in the floorboards, all the nooks and crannies that they had filled with their love. 

The sheets smelled of nothing but liquor, but it didn’t matter. Joe closed his eyes and shut everything out except for thoughts of Nicky, taking a pencil from his hand and kissing his forehead, asking Joe to come back to bed.

* * *

“Joe? Destati, _Yusuf,_ destati, _come on_ -”

The voice was almost drowned out by the sounds of gunshots and yelling. Joe thought he could vaguely hear Andy saying something beside him, but it all came secondary to Nicky calling out his name.

Joe tried to breathe in, but everything hurt, his heart thumping furiously, trying to get all of his systems on board. He felt like his whole body was on fire, and he couldn’t feel his legs. 

He groaned, felt the hands checking the pulse on his neck move to cup his face.

“Yusuf,” Nicky exhaled shakily.

Joe blearily opened his eyes to Nicky, leaning over him. Joe tried to sit up and look down at his body but Nicky’s hand on his face tightened.

“It’s okay, _tesoro_. You’re going to be okay,” Nicky said, but his voice sounded frantic. There were tears welling up in his eyes.

“Nicky?” Joe croaked, “Nicky, what’s going on?”

Was he back? _Was it finally over, was he home?_ He couldn’t tell where he was, or when it was; couldn’t register anything other than the agony screaming in his body, and the man above him, clutching at his face.

"Come back to me," Nicky pleaded desperately.

 _I’m right here_ , Joe wanted to say, but found he couldn’t get the words out past the blood pooling in his throat.

* * *

Joe sat upright and coughed violently, waiting for blood to splatter out onto his hands. When it didn’t, he heaved in and out urgently, each breath more fevered than the last, before the pungent smell of alcohol invaded his senses.

“No,” he despaired, looking around the bleak, dark room. “Don’t make me do this again, please.”

Nobody answered.

He stalked out of the room and found the living room exactly as he’d left it, full of grief and completely empty of Nicky, apart from the drawings on the table.

Joe snatched one up and studied it, the perfect curve of Nicky’s nose, the hollow in the dip of his throat that Joe liked to trace his finger over when they made love.

He crumpled it up in his hands, flinging it across the room. And when that didn’t make him feel better, he kicked the table over. Joe watched an upturned wheel spin slowly in the air before it gave up, hanging limply off the end of the table leg.

The table made an unsatisfying thud when it landed on the floor, undamaged, because of course it was; Nicky had made it.

For some reason, that was the breaking point.

“Fuck you,” Joe sobbed, “fuck you for leaving me, for being in every one of my realities, for loving me in all of them. What the fuck am I supposed to do without you?”

He collapsed onto his knees, palms folded in his lap like some tainted prayer.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he breathed out in anguish, in defeat, in surrender, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the ground.

* * *

When he opened the front door to their house, he wasn’t met with darkness. Just the beautiful, familiar view of the ocean.

He’d painted this sea more times than he could count, had swam in it with Nicky after they married there. If he closed his eyes, he could taste the salt water against Nicky’s bare shoulder.

Wading into the water, Joe’s mind was completely blank, but for the lingering comfort of descending into Nicky’s ocean eyes until there was nothing left of him, until the sand and the silt stripped his skin, making him unrecognisable, until the weeds and the current pulled him under.

* * *

The next thing Joe was aware of was a voice calling to him. Then his arm was yanked upward, and his head broke the surface just in time to hear-

“-doing, you fucking idiot!”

Andy didn’t stop until they were both on the shore, and then she punched him, _hard._

“How fucking dare you, Joe, after what happened to Noriko? You should know better.”

Joe could do nothing but shiver, the cold shock of the wind whipping the sand into his skin. He rolled over onto his side and coughed, breathing into his hands to try and warm himself up. The ring on his finger shone against his skin, taunting him.

Andy seemed to take pity on him, the hard line of her mouth softening into something that felt like understanding.

She ran a hand down the side of his face, pushing a wet curl off his forehead.

“Come on, little brother. Let’s get you warmed up.”

* * *

An hour later, showered and talked out, Joe was slumped over the kitchen table, while Andy considered him gravely.

“Joe’s been living with this for 10 months, and you couldn’t handle one day before throwing yourself into the ocean?”

He didn’t dignify the purposeful dig with a response, but the timing caught his attention.

“10 months?” Joe asked, lifting his head to look at Andy.

She looked tired, more so than Joe had seen her in a great many years. He wondered if she could eat baklava without thinking about Nicky’s terrible gambling habits, or if she’d started praying again, just to feel closer to him.

Nicky inspired that kind of love, that kind of faith. The kind that extended beyond measure and reason.

“Nicky lost his immortality while you were taken by Merrick,” she said quietly, “he died trying to keep Keane from recapturing you on our way out of there.”

Joe blanched. He could picture it so fucking perfectly, had been picturing it for the last 10 months in his nightmares, before Nicky would wake him up and kiss his eyelids and lull him back to sleep.

How could he forget that moment, when he crawled over Nicky’s body, thumb over Nicky’s wrist, waiting for him to wake up?

That moment, suspended across time, warped in a reality where Nicky didn’t gasp awake again, but stayed so very still on that ground, until the blood dried, until he was cold, until he wasn’t Nicky anymore.

Andy wasn’t looking at him anymore, gaze fixed intently on a discarded drawing of Nicky on the floor. “You dragged him out of there, convinced that he would-” she took a deep breath. “It was a week before you let anyone touch the body.”

Joe shook his head frantically, swallowing the lump in his throat to utter, “I don’t- where is he buried?”

Him and Nicky had always told them they wanted to buried together, in the same grave. They hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t let themselves even _consider_ the possibility of anything other than going together.

Andy shook her head, and let out a terrible sigh. “We knew it wasn’t what he wanted, what _you both_ wanted, but we couldn’t risk Kozak finding his body. So we had to cremate him.” Her hands were gripping at her wrists, wringing them distractedly.

Joe took her hands between both of his own and waited for her to look up at him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Andy,” he assured, and he meant it, because he knew what she was feeling. He was feeling the same.

But that guilt over keeping Nicky safe? Over not being able to protect him, of failing him? He knew now that it wasn’t what Nicky would want, that it wasn’t his guilt to bear. It was misplaced, it didn’t belong to either of them.

It belonged to Booker.

So when Joe opened his mouth and asked, “where is he, Andy?” Andy knew better than to argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. That is all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you know what keeps running through my head, Book?” Joe asked, standing up to walk around the room, kicking at a few empty bottles on the floor. “Why him? Why not me, or Andy? Hell, why not you, if you wanted to die so badly – but why did the universe take Nicky?” 
> 
> And why didn’t it take Joe, too?

The flight from Malta to Paris was roughly three hours. Joe had never felt more exhausted in his long life, but he didn’t dare fall asleep on the plane - didn’t so much as close his eyes for longer than a second. Every time he did, he saw Nicky’s lifeless body on the ground, blood haloed around his head, eyes staring blankly ahead.

Andy had stayed back, offering to clean out the house in Malta while Joe was gone. She’d taken one look at the mess of grief and empty bottles, before crouching down and assessing the scattered pages on the floor.

“He needs to start moving on,” she’d said gently, picking up one of the drawings of Nicky.

It was a portrait of his face, laughing. Joe wondered if his other self could still evoke the sound of it in his mind, or if he’d re-tread the lines of that memory so many times he couldn’t be sure if it was real or just what he thought he remembered.

Instead of following that thought to insanity, he’d nodded, throat tight, and soon after he left that hallowed house, and all its painful memories, behind. She was right; Nicky, beautiful, kind Nicky, wouldn’t want this for his husband.

But Joe wasn’t him – and he had unfinished business.

Andy had given him the address from Copley – a shitty little apartment in Paris. Joe had rolled his eyes when she rattled it off to him. It seemed they always came back home, eventually - that in grief, they all returned to the familiar.

Joe let himself into the apartment, wholly unsurprised to find Booker passed out on the small bed in the corner of the room. Scanning the room, he tried not to recognise the symptoms of misery that Joe had been exhibiting, the similar routes they took to self-destruction.

He pulled up a dining chair and spun it around, sitting down to lean his forearms against the backrest.

And then he waited.

It didn’t take long; even drunk, Booker still had 200 years of training to keep him sharp and effective. He had good instincts; it’s what made him such an effective gambler.

Booker had his gun aimed at Joe before he even blinked his eyes open. Joe sat calmly and waited for recognition to bleed into fear, before Booker clenched his jaw in resignation and shoved his gun back into his pants.

He waited a beat, but Booker said nothing, just stared at Joe like he was a ghost. He guessed, in a way, he was.

“Do you know why Nicky always lost bets with you?” Joe began, not missing the way Booker flinched when he said Nicky’s name.

Booker looked extremely uncomfortable, face flushed, eyes darting around like he was waiting for a red sniper dot to appear on his body.

Joe kicked the bed impatiently and Booker jerked a shoulder up in a shrug, shaking his head.

Joe sighed. “Come on, Booker, you’re smarter than this,” he continued, “900 years, and you think he doesn’t know how to read people? You think he doesn’t _know_ that he never stood a chance at tricking Andy’s tastebuds?”

Booker shook his head, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say here, Joe-”

“Nicky never won because he couldn’t resist a losing game. He found hope in the hopeless, had faith in things – in _people_ – that didn’t deserve it,” he explained, watching Booker carefully. “And that wall at Copley’s- he never got to _see_ the good he had done, here. You took that from him.”

Joe shook his head, chuckling humourlessly as he recalled the expression on Nicky’s face as he looked at the undeniable proof of what he had been betting on all along; that they had a _purpose_.

Booker was still looking at him, apprehension written all over the tense lines of his body.

“Do you know what keeps running through my head, Book?” Joe asked, standing up to walk around the room, kicking at a few empty bottles on the floor. “Why him? Why not me, or Andy? Hell, why not _you,_ if you wanted to die so badly – but why did the universe take _Nicky?_ ”

And why didn’t it take Joe, too?

Joe sighed, glancing over to see Booker, face crumpled in shame and guilt. _Good,_ he thought viciously.

“Joe, I didn’t know this would happen, or I swear-”

“You didn’t know it wouldn’t though, either! You gambled _our_ happiness, _our_ lives, on it. And we’re the ones who paid for it.”

Joe fished out his wallet and started counting out bills with trembling fingers. “So, here’s the deal. You’re not going to waste this chance. Do you understand me? You’re going to do better. Because you _owe_ it to him to do something with your immortality that doesn’t involve expunging superhuman levels of alcohol from your liver.”

Joe slapped the money onto the counter and looked back up at Sebastien.

“New York in the ‘20s?” he asked, brow raised, waiting to see if _this_ Sebastien had made the same call.

The ill look on Booker’s face confirmed his instinct. He shook his head, pleading, “Joe, _aies pitié_ , it was just a stupid game.”

“1000 euros, wasn’t it? Congrats, Booker, you won the pool – Nicky went first.”

* * *

Joe was still shaking when he slid back into the car, slamming the door shut.

The stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol clung to him like a second skin. He hated that it reminded him of their house in Malta. Their home shouldn’t be synonymous with hopelessness; it was supposed to be Nicky’s rosemary bread, the orange tree blossoming in spring, laughter shared between syrupy kisses.

Was this the future that this Joe had in store? Haunted by the ghost of his beloved, chasing down anything familiar with shots of whiskey, baptising himself in loneliness.

Was this what _he_ had in store?

Joe pressed his lips together, trying to hold in the desperate sob, clawing its way out him like vomit.

 _Fuck,_ he thought, _fuck, fuck, fuck_ -

He thumped the steering wheel a few times, ignoring the sharp pain that resounded in his wrist, before the mournful moan ripped itself out of him from deep in his chest. He covered a hand over his mouth, choking on each sob that wracked itself out of his lungs. His mind raced, a clusterfuck of thoughts and emotions raging inside of him.

_Why him?_

_“I just had this feeling in my gut that if he got us, he wasn’t letting us go. I’ve never felt so desperate in my life, just trying to keep him away from you.”_

It was so fucking quintessentially _Nicky_ , Joe realised deliriously, to go out protecting Joe.

Nicky, brushing his hair back, asking if he wanted a coffee while he held their daughter. Nicky, cooking him his favourite breakfast and soothing his worries. Nicky, begging Joe to look away to spare him pain. Nicky, telling him everything was going to be okay while he bled out. Nicky, staying, because Joe asked.

Nicky dragging him out of a warzone to protect Joe’s heart, Nicky holding out at the bottom of sea for him, Nicky throwing his own body at Keane to keep him away from Joe.

Nicky, watching his back with a sniper.

 _Nicky, Nicky_ , _Nicky-_

Joe snapped his eyes open, shaking with renewed intensity.

Because it wasn’t ever about destiny.

Joe remembered the desert, throbbing with heat. Remembered he was coated with blood and sweat. He remembered how desperate and hopeless and _furious_ he was, looking at those sea glass eyes that were just as scared as his own.

But he held out his hand, and Nicolo reached back- and did it again, and again and again, taking Joe’s hand across time and space- pulling him out of bed with a smile, hauling him up from the floor, clutching it in sleep- in every universe, their negative spaces filled and fitted by each other’s bodies.

That wasn’t destiny. That was _Nicky._

Nicky loving him despite the universe fucking them over, separating them, placing them on opposing sides of a holy war. Joe reaching out despite everything in his body screaming at him not to.

Because how does fate stand up to 900 years of a love that has endured war, grief, boredom, estrangement, diatribes, loss- and still feels the way it does? Like coming home, like divinity in the depths of damnation, like a sigh of relief.

They’d saved people that would never make it onto Copley’s wall, because they didn’t save people to help the world. They did it because it was all they could do in the face of their immortality. They loved each other because it was all they could do in the face of each other’s existence in the world.

Perhaps it’s time he stopped trusting destiny and started trusting _Nicky_ , trusting that they would find and fight their way back to each other no matter what. They’d pulled love from the rubbles of Pompeii, forged it from hateful religious doctrine, rebuilt it from ruin.

Joe smiled, closed his eyes and-

* * *

-opened them again.

The air was choked with fumes, and he was hot and cold all at once, shivering and sweating as he tried to breathe.

There was a body thrown over his, hands clutching at his head, warm breath panting against his shoulder. Joe moved his head to the side and breathed in-

“ _Nicky,_ ” he rasped, hands coming up to hold Nicky against him, burying his nose into Nicky’s cheek to inhale the smell of gun smoke and musk and that dumb _old spice_ cologne he liked to wear so much.

Nicky’s head jerked up enough to look at Joe, wide eyes raking over his face.

"You came back," he said, closing his eyes, sighing shakily in relief.

When Nicky opened them again, Joe smiled up at him and took his hand. Nicky swiped his thumb over Joe's pulse habitually and Joe's heart stuttered.

"Of course I did, my love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eep! I hope you guys liked this chapter! Only good things on the horizon for our sweet Joe :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Even after your body had healed, you wouldn’t wake up,” Nicky said, “you were breathing, but you couldn’t hear me. I couldn’t get through to you.”
> 
> Joe leaned over and knocked his forehead gently with Nicky’s. Nicky leaned into it, his free hand coming up to rest against Joe’s jaw to hold him there.
> 
> “You got through to me, habibi,” Joe whispered.

“How long was I out for?” Joe asked as Nicky and Nile helped him into the car. He’d mostly healed, but the shrapnel was still making its way out of his legs, and he was still trembling a little too much to walk on his own.

Nicky got in beside him and shook his head, his lips a tight line. Nile and Andy took up the front seats; Andy looked back at him from the rear-view mirror and held up her hand, fingers splayed out, before she started the car.

“Oh,” he breathed out, looking over at Nicky.

It wasn’t much. In the span of a millennium, five minutes wasn’t even a blink, really. But when the love of your life won’t open their eyes, it was far, far too long. Joe’s hand sought out Nicky’s and squeezed it. Looking down at their joined hands, the rings on his fingers, Joe tried not to think about the Nicky that didn’t get back up at Merrick’s lab.

“Even after your body had healed, you wouldn’t wake up,” Nicky said, “you were breathing, but you couldn’t hear me. I couldn’t get through to you.”

Joe leaned over and knocked his forehead gently with Nicky’s. Nicky leaned into it, his free hand coming up to rest against Joe’s jaw to hold him there.

“You got through to me, habibi,” Joe whispered, and Nicky let out an explosive sigh in return, nodding his head.

Nicky didn’t yet know how accurate that statement was.

* * *

“How do you know it wasn’t all in your head?” Andy asked over dinner.

They were in Pittsburgh, in one of the nicer safehouses they used. Well, _nice_ where the spectrum ranged from literal caves, to places that actually had amenities. This particular safehouse had an outlet to plug in a portable stovetop and more than one bedroom.

They were all crowded around a tiny table, knees knocking together as they dug into their food. Nile liked to tease Nicky about his incessant use of pasta, but Nicky always shook his head and gently reminded her that he preceded the introduction of pasta to Italy and besides, it was good carbs. After putting their bodies through the things they did, hunger and exhaustion were normal, and they often needed time to recover from it. At least now they had easy access to food, and _good food_ , at that.

Joe shrugged, swallowing a mouthful. “I don’t know. But it _felt_ real, and my gut tells me it was real. I guess I’ll never really know, though.”

He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be. The pain behind Andy’s smile when he had told her he’d seen Quynh again, happy and alive, had been almost too much for Joe to take.

If it was real, he had to accept that there was a reality where he was severed from Nicky forever. But it also meant there was a universe out there in which Nicky got to live a normal life by his side, full of joy and light. He had to accept the good with the bad.

Nile huffed out a small laugh, “I mean, I find it hard to believe there’s any reality where Nicky would _stab_ you. What an asshole.”

Joe glanced over at Nicky, who crooked a small smile at Nile’s playfulness, probably recalling all the times in Jerusalem where he’d done just that. But his hand on Joe’s thigh tightened infinitesimally, a carefully controlled reaction. Joe knew it was bothering him.

“He wasn’t an asshole. He just needed-” Joe cut himself off. _Me_ , he was going to say. He just needed Joe. But he didn’t want to upset Nicky further, so he quickly recovered the brief pause with, “-a good fuck.”

Andy snickered as Nile spat out her water, glaring at him as if to say _really, Joe?_ Nicky laughed; Joe’s favourite laugh, the one that took him by surprise, with the little snort on the end of it. He was going to have to record that sound, one day.

Joe laughed too, because if he didn’t laugh he was afraid he might cry. It would be a good cry though, not the deep, heaving sorrow from before; just one borne of too many emotions thrumming too close to the surface of his skin. He had experienced far too much in such a short time, and it was catching up to him.

Joe looked around at his little family in the warm, low lights of the room. He spared a thought briefly for Booker, somewhere out there (Paris, probably), on his own. And then another for Quynh. These people who he’s loved – who he loved, still.He thought about all the things that could’ve been, the things that could still be.

All those places, all those universes.

And Nicky; the constant, beautiful singularity at the centre of each one.

* * *

It didn’t hit him until he was just moments away from passing out, showered and curled up next to Nicky, skin to skin, a few hours later.

When it did, Joe jolted upright, trying to control the way his breathing was rapidly spinning out of control. _Shit,_ shit, shit. What if he woke up and he wasn’t in Nicky’s arms but elsewhere, in another reality? What if it wasn’t really over, and what if next time he couldn’t get back home, back to Nicky-

“Joe,” he heard Nicky say, and then there were arms wrapped around his middle as Nicky shifted up against the headboard, pulling Joe’s body against his.

Joe sighed, feeling the steady beat of Nicky’s heart thumping against his back while he tried to mirror the rise and fall of Nicky’s chest. He dropped his head back against Nicky’s shoulder and breathed in, comforted and grounded by Nicky’s touch, his smell, his presence.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” Joe admitted regretfully. “I’m exhausted, but I can’t- I can’t sleep.” _Can’t let myself be taken from you again._

Nicky made a soft noise of sympathy, tightening his hold on Joe.

“You need rest, rohi,” he said, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

But Joe was shaking his head before he realised it. Nicky moved, rearranging them so Joe was laying flat on his back, looking up at those intense eyes that he could barely make out in the dark, but he knew burned with love.

And then Nicky opened his mouth and said, “maybe you just need _a good fuck_ ,” voice dry and amused, reusing Joe’s words from earlier, mouth curved into a smile.

Joe laughed, a little hysterically, the edge of it turning into a moan as Nicky pinched his nipple. Then Nicky leaned down to press his lips against Joe’s, and _oh_ , he’d missed this, missed the way Nicky kissed him, all-consuming and powerful.

Joe groaned, hands reaching to tug at Nicky’s ears because his hair was _just_ this shy of too short for Joe to bury his hands into. Nicky ran his big hands down Joe’s body, skin stark against Joe’s even in the darkness. When Nicky brushed over his cock, quickly hardening under Nicky’s attention, he pulled away.

“Yeah?” Nicky asked.

“ _Please_ ,” Joe answered urgently, lifting his hips into Nicky’s hand, “I need you.”

“You have me,” Nicky responded automatically, before he took Joe in his hand and stroked him with practiced ease, grip perfect, thumb swiping the head in that spot that drove him nuts.

Joe gasped out a moan, dragging Nicky down to kiss him, hips bucking up into Nicky’s hand. His thigh brushed Nicky’s own cock, hard and flushed, smearing pre-come on Joe’s skin.

“In me,” Joe clarified when they broke apart, “I need you _in me_ , Nicky.”

He needed Nicky all around him, needed Nicky to hold him down and fuck him until there was nothing but Nicky, until the universe was reduced to just them and their love.

“Okay,” Nicky nodded distractedly, kissing Joe on the mouth once more before he leaned off the bed to rummage through their bag. He came back holding a small tube of lube – another thing Joe was glad they now had easy access to.

Joe was practically vibrating in his eagerness to get Nicky inside of him, frantic with it, and Nicky had to run a soothing hand up and down his thigh to get him to relax enough for Nicky to sink a finger inside his tight entrance.

Joe moaned as one finger turned into two, widening his legs to fit Nicky’s body between them. He felt pulled open, split down the middle by Nicky’s touch like a crack in his sternum, like a strike of lightning zinging down his spine.

Nicky was staring down between Joe’s legs, his lip bitten red as he watched his fingers sink inside of Joe’s body. Joe felt a deep wave of lust and affection rush through him in a shiver, pooling in his abdomen, rising up into lungs.

“Yours,” he breathed out, reaching out a hand.

Nicky’s eyes snapped up to his, and _fuck_ his pupils were huge, swallowing Joe up into them. He took Joe’s hand and gripped it tightly.

“As I am yours,” Nicky replied, just so.

He slipped his fingers out, letting go of Joe’s hand momentarily to squeeze more lube into his palm, which he wrapped around his own cock. Joe let out an explosive moan watching Nicky spread the lube over himself, hungry eyes watching the head poke out through his fist.

Nicky took his hand again as he leaned over Joe, hoisting Joe’s legs up around his body to lift his hips. He guided his cock to Joe’s entrance, head catching on the rim before he started sinking inside, inch by glorious inch, until all Joe could do was focus on breathing around the fullness inside of him, completing him.

“ _Oh, fuck,_ Nicky. You feel so good, baby, you fill me up _so fucking well._ Can you move, _yeah,_ just like that-” Joe was babbling, running his mouth down through all the thoughts in his head as Nicky adjusted the position to sink even further inside.

Nicky groaned and dropped down to kiss Joe, interrupting the filth he was spouting, before he began to move. His cock slid out almost all the way before pushing back in again, lighting him up. Joe shifted his hips to help him along, thighs clenching around Nicky’s body in a futile attempt to keep him there, deep inside.

Nicky laughed into his mouth and bit his bottom lip. “I thought you wanted to be fucked, _tesoro_. I can’t do that if you won’t let me move,” he admonished gently.

Joe flushed, but he let Nicky slide his hand down to Joe’s thigh, holding it up and open so he could use it as leverage to move his cock in and out of Joe’s hole. Joe rolled his eyes back as Nicky hit his prostate, hips jolting at the shock of pleasure as he brushed against the sensitive nub.

“There we are,” Nicky murmured, before zeroing in on that spot, picking up the intensity of his thrusts with the single-minded purpose of _ruining_ Joe.

There was an edge of desperation to his movements and his touch, as if he couldn't get enough of Joe, didn't want to let him go for even a second. 

Joe moaned, “fucking love this, fucking love _you_ ,” dizzy with exhaustion and delirious with pleasure.

Nicky made a low sound and swore, shoving himself inside of Joe before he dropped Joe’s leg to wrap his hand around Joe’s cock.

“Always so mouthy when I have you like this,” Nicky replied fondly, brushing a thumb over Joe’s lip, pressing down to part Joe’s mouth, eyes focused there.

Joe whined, and Nicky leaned down and captured his mouth in another kiss, holding Joe’s jaw so he could angle him the way he wanted as his tongue fucked into Joe’s mouth to the rhythm of his cock entering Joe.

The arousal burned in his gut, getting closer and closer with each thrust. His brows drew together, letting out little punched out gasps as he reached that peak. Nicky knew each and every one of his tells, knew how to wring pleasure out of Joe’s body in uncountable ways. Wholly known and owned and loved by Nicky, utterly devoured by his touch, Joe could do nothing but surrender.

It wasn’t anything in particular that did it, just Nicky’s steady hands and steady thrusts, driving into him over and over. The pleasure rose and rose inside of him and then snapped, crested on its ecstatic peak. Joe breathed out a stunned cry, clamping down on Nicky’s cock as he came and came and came, followed by a rush of endorphins, goosebumps ripping through him in a delightful shudder.

Nicky pushed in two or three more times before he shoved himself inside again, this time staying buried deep while his cock pulsed inside of Joe.

Joe felt the wave of fatigue hit him as soon as Nicky slipped out, barely able to return Nicky’s sweet kisses. He felt warm, sated and at home in Nicky’s arms. 

Nicky stroked a sweaty hand down Joe’s face.

“Sleep, love. I will be here in the morning, and so will you.”

Joe nodded, closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, what did we think of that ending?
> 
> Honestly, it's been so fucking fun making this fic, and I've appreciated all your comments throughout immensely. Watch this space for another installment in this series centring around Asshole!Nicky and his Joe, being dumbasses together :)  
> if you'd like to know the vibe for that fic, listen [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4mw1HA3cPVIiLwC9JZtQiN?si=vW6IiAJyQG6jvt63SiQirA)

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](https://peachpitandpomegranate.tumblr.com/)  
> Listen to the playlist for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/26hWr4o7MDjI4CeSLBpIHi?si=lzx3cZiaTHuuIqo7LvtAkQ)


End file.
